A Hero Lost
by Moriel
Summary: What if Frodo had died at Mount Doom after the destruction of the Ring? Rating for suicide attempt and Character Death. No slash, profanity, etc. just major Angst. Please RandR! All chapters currently being edited. Chapter 3 edited 5.04.04
1. The End of All Things

The End of All Things 

        This chapter is entirely redone (FINALLY!), with many book quotes added, and the entire first part rewritten!  I have also changed the chapter title…hope you like it!  (I've been listening to the 30 second clips of the ROTK soundtrack too much!)  

        I will be going through every chapter like this, and changing errors that people have so kindly pointed out, and making the whole thing much better (I hope…).  Since many things will be change, I recommend reading through each chapter again when it is edited.  Chapters 7 and 8 have been deleted because I was not happy with them at all. 

        Thanks to all the people who reviewed over the past, few months to get me back on track with this!  

        Special thanks to Arwen Baggins who reviewed every chapter over again, and put a recommendation in her story "Frodo's Bane and Pippin's Stomach"!  THANKS AGAIN!  And thanks also for reading through this chapter.

        Thanks also to Ariel, who beta-read the old version.

_*****_

_"There is nothing we can do for Frodo. The Quest will claim his life."_

 Mordor, March 25, 3019

        "I am glad you here with me.  Here at the end of all things, Sam," said Frodo, his voice wavering slightly because of exhaustion and the smoke.  Behind them mountains crumbled, towers fell, and many things were ending.  It seemed that they would end here also, buried among the ash.  His strength was failing him, and though the burden of the Ring was removed, it was not enough.  
        "Yes I am with you**,** Master, and you're with me.  And the journey's finished," replied Sam**. ** "But after coming all that way I don't want to give up yet, It's not like me somehow, if you understand."  He could and would not give up.  He had left much in the Shire he longed for, to see his gaffer's face as he told his tale, and Rosie.  And the Shire itself, he longed to see it again, and to see if what he saw in Galadriel's mirror was true.  His master also, though he was tired and worn, his body emaciated from the days of going miles on just a bit of _lembas_ he was himself, the evil shadow of the Ring was removed from his eyes.  
        "Maybe not, Sam, but its like things are in the world.  Hopes Fail.  An end comes.  We have only a little time to wait now.  We are lost in ruin and downfall, there is no escape."  There was no escape, he could feel death coming quickly, approaching them from all sides.  The fire, smoke, and stench from the Black Land choked his lungs, robbing him of the will to move.   
        "Well, Master, we could at least get a little further from this danger place here, this Crack of Doom, if that's the name," said Sam. "Now couldn't we?  Come, Mr. Frodo, lets go down the path at any rate."  
        "Very well, Sam, if you wish to go I'll come," said Frodo.  Seeing that his master was not capable of standing on his own, Sam gently grabbed Frodo's hand, his good hand, and helped him on his feet.   
        Slowly they started down the steep slope, Sam leading the way, and Frodo stumbling behind, his head bent staring at the rock and ash below, but still he tripped, and stumbled, falling almost to his knees a few times.  Sam looked ahead, trying to find a safe way through the maze of burning ash and lava, though it was getting very hard to find.  For a moment he glanced up on the horizon, out East towards Barad-dur.  Where only a few hours ago there stood a great dark fortress; the display of Sauron's power, there stood a huge pile of broken rock.  Sam gasped in awe of what his master had accomplished, and Frodo took some notice, only lifting his head slightly and nodding weakly.   
        At last no path could be found, and they collapsed upon the black rock, exhausted to wait for their wait for their end.    
        "What a tale we have been in Mr. Frodo, haven't we?" said Sam, still amazed at the destruction of Barad-dur.  "I wish I could hear it told.  Do you think they'll say _Now comes the story of Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom.  _And then they'll hush like we did, when in Rivendell they told us the tale of Beren One-Hand and the Great Jewel.  I wish I could hear it!  And I wonder how it will go on after our part."  
        "But I shall never live to hear it," said Frodo, taking the last sip from his water bottle, and spilling most of it on himself.  
        "It may not be the end of things just yet, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, holding his master's maimed hand.  
        "It shall be the end of me, at least," said Frodo, his eyes closed "I'm tired, Sam, and this Quest has hurt me more than you can know." He paused for a moment, to catch his breath, pain seared through his shoulder and side, and with every breath, his dry throat stung.  "I cannot go on any further.  Even if there were a way out, what would there be to live for?"  
        "Mr. Frodo!  But we're heroes, Mr. Frodo, you're a hero!  Heroes don't just give up.  And anyway, don't you want to see everyone again, Strider, and Merry and Pippin, don't you want to see what happened to them?  And the Shire, and Bag End, and Bilbo and the book he was going to write about our journey?"  
        "I am no hero, Sam," Frodo began, "I failed the quest, if it were not for Gollum the world would have a new Dark Lord.  I gave in to the Ring, and claimed it as my own.  I failed Strider, and betrayed him and the others who entrusted me with the Ring, and you, I hurt you.  What is left in this world for me but pain and darkness?  My purpose has been fulfilled, the world was saved, but not for me."  
        "Mr. Frodo, please hang on, for me?" pleaded Sam, but Frodo shook his head weakly. "You can't just leave me here Mr. Frodo!"  Frodo's breath caught in his throat.  "Elbereth, save him!"  
        "Forgive me, Sam," said Frodo, opening his eyes one last time to gaze at the world, as if asking what more it had to offer.  And with that he was gone.

        "NO, MR. FRODO!" Sam screamed, and pulled Frodo into his arms.  He felt for his chest moving with labored breaths, or any pulse at the neck or wrist, but there was none; he was dead.  Frodo Baggins, savior of Middle-Earth was dead.   
        Sobs escaped Sam's mouth, but no tears came, for there were none to shed, he always gave the water to Frodo.  "And what good has it done, Samwise Gamgee," he said to himself, "Now that he's dead, and you're stuck on this filthy mountain alone.  Gandalf told you to not lose him, and look what you've done."    
        Gently he laid Frodo back onto the ash-covered ground.  Frodo's eyes still lay open and glazed, staring out at the world around him, for an answer that didn't come.  Slowly and gently, Sam closed them, the last time he would look into those eyes, which once had seen joy, but they would no more.  Sam folded Frodo's arms across his chest, and then kissed his forehead, still holding Frodo's maimed hand.  
        "Your poor hand, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "But I guess it doesn't matter anymore, I guess nothing like that matters anymore."  He wrapped the elven cloak tighter around Frodo's shoulders, and then lie down on the ground next to him.  
        "And now all I have to do is await the same fate that took you.  I'm coming, Mr. Frodo."  
  
***  
  
        Two eagles dove down into the destruction surrounding Mount Doom, they had spotted two forlorn shapes lying amid the ashes.  Lower they circled, until at last they were able to grasp the shapes, the bodies of two hobbits.   
        Gandalf clung to the back of the larger eagle, Gwaihir, worries cluttering his head as they dove.  They had flown very fast to the slopes of Mount Doom, faster than any servant of the enemy could.  But had they come soon enough, or had the hobbits fallen in the Fire, or in despair after the destruction?  
        Some of his fears were refuted when the eagles picked up two hobbits in their claws.  "How do they fare?" he asked the eagles.    
        "They are both cold, and very thin, and put under some deep sleep."  
        "That is what I feared," Gandalf replied, "Though at least they are both alive."   
        "They are not, or at least this one is not," Gwaihir said, and Gandalf noticed that he bore Frodo.  "There is no breath from him, and no beating of the heart."    
        "Let me see him!" Gandalf commanded, and Gwaihir obeyed.  
        As he looked at Frodo, he realized Gwaihir was right; his greatest fear had come true.  Frodo's body was limp, his face was pale, and his hands were cold.  There was no breath or beating of his heart.   
        "Frodo, _lasto__ beth lammen, tolo dan nan galad(1),"Gandalf spoke, grasping Frodo's face, trying to wake him, he wished that Frodo had fallen into some dark sleep even though in his heart he know it was not true. Frodo Baggins was dead, and there was nothing Gandalf could do. Even though he had the power to heal him, he was forbidden to use it.   
        Tears poured down the Istari's wrinkled face as he held the lifeless hobbit in his arms. For many years, they had been friends, and now he was lost. Gandalf had known this could have happened when he had sent Frodo on the Quest, he had even argued with Elrond not to send him, but fate chose Frodo, and he had volunteered to carry the Ring himself.   
        Gandalf's eyes trailed down to the chain around Frodo's neck, now empty. The Quest had been completed, but the hero lost. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the hobbit's maimed hand, bleeding and deformed; it had cost him pain to destroy the Ring, but the greatest pain had come afterwards, and would come to those who had known him. _

        The eagles dove onto the lands of Ithilien, which were mostly deserted except for a few tents left by the Host of the West, and healers waiting for the survivors of the battle.  Gandalf landed and stepped off Gwaihir's back. Bearing Frodo and Sam, he rushed to the tents to find them a place of rest. Sam was still seriously ill and hurt by the Ring, but when he heard of his master's death, he would despair. He laid Sam inside a tent in the middle of a peaceful grove, ordering a healer to watch over Sam, and tell when he had awakened. It felt relieving to leave Sam under another's care, but he still held the greater burden. 

        Frodo's body was frail and thin, but it felt to Gandalf as if he bore the Ring along with the small hobbit. Still he was tempted to use his power, and heal Frodo, though he revoked it in his mind with something he had once said to Frodo, "_Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?"  _He sighed, set Frodo's body down in an empty tent, and then rushed out into the nearby lands.  He had to think how to break the news to Sam, but his own grief clouded his mind. 

****

(1) Listen to the words of my tongue, come back to the light. 

*****

        Hope you liked the first, re-edited chapter!  I was also thinking of ending this chapter at the first part, for more suspense and angst, and putting Gandalf's part with the next chapter or in its own.  Please review and tell me what you think (of the chapter and my thought)!  
  
        I don't know when the next chapter will be edited, my time is still rather scare, but I hope you will stick with me!


	2. Awakening

**Awakening**

        Thanks once again to all my reviewers who have stayed with me (hopefully) over the past many months!  I am sorry this has taken so long…life's been very crazy over the past few months.  My goal now it to edit (or write a new chapter) each month, and possibly two over the summer months, until this is finished! 

*****

_"Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee, and I don't mean to.  I don't mean to."_

        Sam awoke lying on a soft feather mattress, covered in spotless white sheets.  Above him hung boughs of green and gold; the new leaves and blossoms were producing a sweet fragrance.  Sam recognized the fragrance as that of Ithilien.  He opened his eyes and bright sunshine streamed in.

        "Bless me, Mr. Frodo!  I must have overslept!" said Sam, closing his eyes again and thinking.  "Why what an awful dream I had!"  But when he sat up, and looked around his master was not there.  "So it wasn't a dream," he whispered, "or at least not all of it."  For he refused to accept the last part as truth, his master lying on the ground, gasping for breath, and then he was gone.

        "Then where am I and what is the time?" he said louder, but not expecting a response.

        "In Ithilien, in the keeping of the King of Gondor," said a deep voice from behind him.  Sam jumped, and turned to face the voice.  Gandalf stood before him in robes of pure white, his white hair and beard gleaming in the sun.  Sam lay back onto the bed, his mouth wide in astonishment as Gandalf continued, "And it is around noon on the fourteenth day of the new year, or the eighth of April in the Shire Reckoning."

        "But Gandalf," began Sam, confused but joyous, "You fell, you were dead."

        "Yes, yes, but I am here now and so are you," said Gandalf smiling, "Now how do you feel?"

        "I am not quite sure at the moment.  I am still very confused," Sam paused for a moment, but Gandalf looked at him intently, urging him to continue.

        "Where is Mr. Frodo, and how is he, nothing dreadful has happened to him has it, and was the Quest completed?  And what of fellowship?  And how did you get here, and me, how did I get here?"

        "Slow down, Samwise!" Gandalf smiled and laughed, though Sam could tell that it was forced.

        "The Quest has been completed; Frodo and you defeated Sauron.  As for the fellowship, many of them are here; you will see them again soon.  Many of them have already seen you.  They have sat at your side as you slept.  And you will hear my tale and yours in time."  Gandalf turned and looked across the field, towards a city of tents.

        "But Mister Gandalf, sir, what happened to Mr. Frodo," repeated Sam, hoping Gandalf had just not heard him the first time.  But he feared that Gandalf was avoiding the subject, and his master really was gone.

        Gandalf sighed, not knowing how to begin or how to break the news to Sam.  His voice wavered as he began, "Frodo has…the Quest was too hard…he has...died."

         The last word sent chills through Sam.  He sat for a moment, petrified, his mind racing wondering how it could be true, before he broke down in tears.

        Gandalf embraced him, tears in his own eyes.  They sat for a long while in silence, the world seeming to halt as they cried.  But all around them the world went on, birds chirping, soldiers of Gondor laughing and feasting, unaware of the grief their freedom had cost.

        "I…I'm sorry, Gandalf," Sam said through the sobs, after they had sat in silence for a long while.

        "For what, Samwise?" asked Gandalf, though he knew the answer.  "There is nothing to be sorry for."

        "For letting Mr. Frodo die," said Sam quietly.  The whole thing seemed so unfair.  What had his master ever done to deserve to go on such a horrible quest?  Mr. Frodo had always been so kind.  It was not his fault that he inherited the Ring from Bilbo.  He had already been through so much in his life, losing his parents at a young age, and then Bilbo.  And all he received for risking everything and saving all of Middle-Earth was death.  Somebody had to be at fault for all of this, and it was easiest to blame himself.  After all, he had been with Frodo the whole time.  Certainly there was something he could have done.

        "You did not let Frodo die, Samwise," said Gandalf, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder, but Sam quickly pushed it away.  "You did all you could.  It was remarkable that you and Frodo even got that far."

        "But I let him go.  I let him die…I killed him," said Sam, raising his voice and sobbing harder.  "You told me not to lose him, and I did!"  Gandalf sat silent, not knowing how to respond.  "I let the spider attack him," continued Sam quickly thinking up reasons, "I left him for dead, and then the orcs took him.  I allowed the creature Gollum to come.  It was I who deserved to die, not him!"

        "Now Sam, you are not to blame in all of this, and you certainly do not deserve death!" said Gandalf, raising his voice slightly.  "No one is to blame for this."  For Gandalf knew he could also be to blame.  He had allowed Frodo to take the Ring to Rivendell, and then he convinced Elrond to send Frodo on the Quest to Mount Doom.  

        "I know it seems very unfair," continued Gandalf, seeming to read Sam's thought, "But Frodo is at peace now.  And no one is to blame; it was all part of a great plan."

        Sam sighed, and looked at Gandalf knowing he had lost.  But he buried the guilt inside himself, and he would not forget it easily.

        "Gandalf, where have they put him?" asked Sam quietly.

        "I am not quiet sure myself," responded Gandalf, "But I do know that no one is permitted there.  Now you must get some sleep."

        Sam nodded and realizing he felt very tired, he did not have the strength or will to argue with Gandalf again.  Gandalf walked around the bed to the other side where a small table sat, with a dark bottle of medicine, a few candles, and a glass of water.  Carefully Gandalf poured a dose of the medicine and gave it to Sam, which he drank reluctantly, and then he lay his head down on the pillow.

        "Gandalf," he said softly, "Will you tell me what happened to you now?"

        "Yes, I guess now would be a good time for it," Gandalf said, hoping his story would help get Sam's mind off Frodo a little.  "I fought the balrog as I fell, to the depths of Khazad-dûm, at last we plunged into the cool waters of the pool below, and onto hard stone.  I searched for a way upward, out of the water, and at last, I found a stair, and raced up it, though the balrog was on my heels.  We battled to the top of the stair, upon Caradhras, where we had our final duel.  Finally, I cast him off the peak; he was defeated.  But I too was in anguish, and passed out of consciousness and into death, but then feeling came into my body again.  I had been sent back to Middle Earth, until my task was done."  Gandalf paused for a moment, and looked at Sam, whose eyes were now closed.  "And my task is now finished," he said in a whisper to himself.

        Sam opened his eyes slightly to urge Gandalf to go on.  "I lay struggling and cold, but then Gwaihir Lord of the Eagles came to bear me to Lothlórien, where the lady told of your stay there and where you had gone.  And I tracked down Aragorn and the others until I met them in Fangorn.  I shall tell you the rest when you are well." 

        The grass rustled, as the healer approached a few minutes later.  Gandalf, deep in thought, heard him, but did not respond.        

        "How does he fare?" said the healer, as he stopped behind Gandalf and looked at Sam.

        "He awoke earlier," said Gandalf.

        "Good," replied the healer, as he bent to examine Sam more closely.  "He is less pale, and sleeps deeply."

        "Yes, I gave him the medicine, before he went to sleep," said Gandalf, and the healer nodded.

        "What did he say when he awoke?" asked the healer after a short pause. 

        Sam opened his eyes in fear for a moment.  He had been slowly falling asleep before, but he had caught some of the conversation.  Now he knew Gandalf would tell the healer what he had said, and he would be guarded when he longed for solitude.  As soon as his eyes opened, they shut.  It was best to pretend he was sleeping. 

        "He took the news pretty hard.  He said that Frodo's death was his fault," Gandalf replied and Sam cringed.  "I was afraid of this all along."

        "Yes, yes," said the healer thinking, "Then someone must stay with at all times, especially since the body is near by...only across the grove."  The healer pointed, as Sam opened his eyes slightly to see.  Gandalf nodded as the healer continued, "And the others wanted to see him today."

        "Let them," said Gandalf.  The healer gave him a questioning look.  "It will keep his mind off things a little."

        "What about the parties and feasts?"

        "I do not know," Gandalf said and his face softened.  "It is all too near, I don't know if I have the heart to attend myself."

        There was an awkward pause and then Gandalf finally said, "Well, I must be going."

*****

        Thanks for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed this chapter!  Please review or e-mail me and tell me what you think.  The next chapter (hopefully) will be edited by the end of April.


	3. Many Meetings

**Many Meetings**

        FrodoBaggins87:  I am glad you enjoyed the part with the soldiers.  I am sorry it had to go, but I hope you can still stand it this way!  The medicine bottle's still here, but I hope it is written even better.  And you will really enjoy the next chapter!

        Frodo-lovers: No, unfortunately I cannot make Frodo come back to life.  But I will (or at least hope I will) make a beautiful ending anyway.  After all, death is not the worst thing.

        Disclaimer (which I have forgotten to do the past two chapters): I do not own anything related to Lord of the Rings, all the characters belong to Tolkien. 

_"I don't suppose we'll ever see them again."_

_"We may yet, Mr. Frodo.  We may."_

*****

        The sun rose after a long slumber to greet the dawn of a new day.  Its bright rays shined over the Mountains of Shadow, through the thin tent walls, waking Sam from his sleep.  He yawned and rolled away from the sun, trying to fall asleep again, since he had hardly slept the night before.  What little sleep he did get had been haunted by horrible dreams of his master, as he had seen him, lying dead. 

        But as he drifted between sleep and consciousness, he did not remember the events of the night before, or the past year.  The soft mattress and the sun waking him brought him back to Hobbiton and his family's hole at number three Bagshot Row.  Every morning he rose with the sun, to a day of gardening in Frodo's garden.

        Slowly he opened his eyes, and gazed upon the foothills of the Ephel Dûath.  It was not another peaceful day, but it would be a day filled with grief and guilt.  This day, when he would finally meet the Fellowship again, he had looked forward to during those long days in Mordor, but now he dreaded it.  It would not be the meeting he had hoped for, with feasting, music, dancing, and the telling of all their tales, instead it would be full of tears.  

        His eyes went out of focus staring at the mountains, and he remembered when he had climbed those mountains with his master.  The mountains looked friendlier that they had then; the sun shown on them now, no longer were they wreathed in shadow.  

Frodo had been weak even then, before the spider had attacked him.  They had started up the steep, narrow, dark stairs as the forces of Mordor issued out of Minas Morgul.  Sam and Frodo climbed slowly with both their hands and feet, as a fall would most likely result in death.  But Gollum scampered ahead, constantly motioning for them to hurry.  

Sam knew his master was tired, for each step he took slowly, and his breathing was heavy.  Frodo slipped slightly, but quickly caught himself, and started climbing again, being even more cautious.  "I had not helped him at all," thought Sam, "I had only been concerned with myself, getting myself up those wretched steps."

For a while, they climbed on without breaks and without speaking to each other.  The forces of Minas Morgul had all left the fortress, and now marched to vanquish Mordor.  The only hope left for Middle-Earth was upon the stairs climbing his way into Mordor.  Finally, they came to a landing, and Gollum pulled Frodo up the last few steps.  Sam stumbled up slowly after him.  

Frodo turned to Sam, his blue eyes burning with weakness and hopelessness.  The gaze pierced Sam, even though it was only a memory.  "Mr. Frodo!" he screamed, reaching out, longing just to touch his hand, to feel warmth in him again, instead of cold hard skin.  

"Sam!" cried the voice of Gandalf, penetrating Sam's memory.  Sam sat up quickly, and his eyes snapped open; he did not even realize he closed them.  Gandalf looked at him with concern, and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder.  "You have been dreaming!" 

After catching his breath, Sam lay down again, and closed his eyes.  "I saw him Gandalf," whispered Sam, "He was alive, not all dead like he is now.  He was struggling and I did not help him." 

***

After being forced to eat his first real meal in almost two months, Gandalf helped Sam out of bed, and into new clothes, to see the Fellowship again.  At first, Sam was dizzy standing on his feet, but after a few minutes, he was walking without any help.  When he was dressed, he sat down on the bed again.  Gandalf called the healer in, and left the tent.  

The healer felt Sam's forehead, and asked him to walk around the tent.  Then he gave him a dose of a different medicine, more foul-tasting than the first, and he replaced both bottles on the bedside table.

"You may go see your friends now, little master," the healer said, smiling at Sam.  Sam only nodded, and walked out of the tent.  Gandalf let Sam walk alone now, because no longer did Gandalf have to worry about Sam going to see the body.  After the previous night, he knew that Sam would not do that again.  He did not fear Sam hurting himself anymore either.  Sam did not seem to blame himself as much now as he did before.  Little did Gandalf know, because Sam's guilt and hatred for himself was even greater than it had been, but he was more wary of showing it. 

As Sam walked, he hardly took notice of his surroundings, or the people that passed.  All around him, tents that had been sent from Minas Tirith dotted the grove.  People bustled to and fro, soldiers returning from small skirmishes with the Easterlings, wounded being carried to be treated, and soldiers celebrating the victory.  He spotted the deep blue tent, the King's tent, where Gandalf told him to go, only a little ways beyond him.  In only a few minutes, he was there.  

Before entering, he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and emotions.  Tears welled in his eyes and threatened to pour down his cheeks the moment he stepped in, but he would not let that happen.  He would not let them see him cry, their own sorrow was enough, they did not need to care for or worry about him, after all, he did not deserve it.         

He was going to see the Fellowship again, friends whom he had not seen in months, and he was weeping; this should have been a time for celebration.  It felt more like a funeral now.  Frodo's death had taken all triumph out of the Quest, and all joy out of meeting his friends.  He had always believed that he would see them again with Frodo, not alone.  He took a deep breath, and dried the tears that had slipped down his cheeks.  Pulling back the tent flap, he slowly stepped in. 

For a moment, his sorrow was forgotten when he saw familiar faces that he had not seen in months.  There were Gimli and Legolas, sitting silently in the corner, Pippin whom he had seen last night, and Merry talking with Gandalf and Aragorn.  Boromir, he knew, had died at Cair Andros.  Upon each of their faces there was no laughter, only dried tears and pained smiles.

Merry ran to Sam first, and embraced him; tears were in both of their eyes tears of both of joy and sadness.  No words were said, for words could not adequately express their emotions.

Then Pippin came, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, his face somber.  He had changed so much during the quest, he seemed almost a stranger to Sam; no longer was he the cheerful carefree hobbit whom Sam had known in the Shire.  As Merry and Pippin stood in front of him, he noticed another change in them also.  "Why you've grown!" Sam exclaimed.  Merry and Pippin nodded, and smiled through the tears.  

"We shall tell you later," Pippin whispered, and led Sam to a chair.    

Aragorn came and kneeled before Sam, tears trickling down his kingly face.  He looked into Sam's eyes, and then bowed his head, saying nothing.  "Strider!" Sam exclaimed.  Aragorn nodded, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder.  He quickly embraced Sam, and then rose. 

        Gimli placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, tears is his eyes also.  Sam had never believed that Gimli could cry, even as he stood watching Gandalf fall he had not shed a tear.    

        Legolas came last, and stood before Sam, his head bowed.  "I am sorry," he said, "Hiro hon hîdh ab 'wanath.*"

        ***

        Food came later for the Fellowship, but it sat on a table untouched by everyone.  They sat mostly in silence; Sam did talk at all, for he feared that if he would, the tears would come again.  Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn talked some, though they spoke very softly, and looked over at Sam often.  Gandalf sat in a corner by himself, his eyes glazed, deep in thought.  

         Suddenly, Sam stood up, back to back with Pippin.  "I still don't understand it, especially at your age," he said.

        "Well, what can you expect," said Gimli, who had been watching Sam, "To go drinking ent-draughts, and expect nothing but a pot of beer."

        "Ents?" said Sam, confused.  "I see there is more to this tale than my part."

        And then Merry and Pippin told part of their tale, from how they met Treebeard to the Battle of Isengard.  Sam listened at first, commenting as they spoke, it seemed so good to be back with them again.  But after a while, his attention waned, and his mind drifted to his master again. 

        _"I don't suppose we'll ever see them again,"_ Frodo's words replayed in Sam's head as he looked around the tent, at the Fellowship.  Those words brought him back to when they stood upon the Emyn Muil.  They had just crossed the Anduin, and parted from the Fellowship.  Before them stood the impossible labyrinths of the Emyn Muil, and then Mordor, which they would surely be found and killed in there, if they made it there at all.

        _"We may yet, Mr. Frodo.  We may," _was Sam's response.  All through the Quest, he believed they would be reunited with the Fellowship, even right up to those moments upon Mount Doom.  Even when Frodo lay dying, he believed that still there had to be a way.  

        "And there was a way," thought Sam, "But I hurt him too much.  I did not help him.  If only I had helped him, then he would have lived.  He could have been here, and seen them again, and we could have all been happy.  We could have had a joyous reunion, instead of this."  He glanced around again, looking at the mournful looks on the other's faces; he had caused all their pain.

        Merry stopped talking, when he saw Sam crying again.  Sam just shook his head.  He imagined how it could have been…how it could have been if he had not failed.  There would be smiles on those faces instead of tears; there would have been celebration and feasts, instead of this mournful reunion.  Sam could not bear it anymore.  He could not bear being the reason for their pain.

        Nor could be bear being the cause of his master's pain.  He still vividly remembered his master's eyes, piercing him, begging for help, but he had received none.  He could not bear this any longer, bearing all this guilt and pain, it had to end. 

        "I am sorry," he said softly to Merry, and then he fled.  

        He sprinted away from the tent, not knowing where he was going.  His feet carried him somewhere, hopefully far away from these people, but his head did not know where.  He needed to end his life…this failure, and then he would no longer have to see the pain he caused, or feel his own pain.

        People stared at him as he passed, and tried to dodge him, but still he almost ran into many.  Finally, he reached his tent, and ran inside, fortunately, the healer had left.  Throwing himself on the bed, he looked around, his eye landing on the medicine bottles by his bedside.  

        He grabbed one of them and uncorked it, holding it to his lips.  He had but a moment, before someone would come, he had to do this quickly.  He must end this failure.  If he would drink this one bottle, then in a few hours he would be gone, they could do nothing to help him.  

        He tipped the bottle upward now, and the liquid started to flow toward his lips, but suddenly something stopped him.  

       _"I failed the quest."  _He remembered Frodo's words.  "No," he said, "you did not fail, Mr. Frodo, I did."  He lifted the bottle once again.

        _"Forgive me, Sam."_  

"I have forgiven you, Mr. Frodo, but I cannot forgive myself."  He closed his eyes now; the medicine bottle at his lips.  Footsteps and screams came from outside, but Sam did not hear them.

"Sam!" Pippin shouted, running into the tent knocking the bottle from Sam's hand.  It hit the ground and shattered.  Sam winced; his escape shattered with it. 

"What do you think you were doing!" screamed Pippin.  Now others entered the tent also, Merry, Legolas, Gandalf, and Aragorn all stood at the door staring at Sam.

"Giving me what I deserve," said Sam quietly, his face downcast.

"You do not deserve to die for this," said Aragorn stepping forward, "No one does."

"But I killed him," said Sam, trying to rationalize his actions, but he could tell that they did not believe him.  "If I had only cared for him more, if I had not let him get attacked by the spider, and carried him up Mount Doom, if—"

"There was nothing else you could have done, Sam," said Pippin, "There was nothing anyone could have done.  It was Frodo's choice to give up his life then.  Strider's right, it is no one's fault.  Now all we can do is remembering him."

*****

*May he find peace after death. 

        Thanks again for reading, please review or e-mail me and tell me what you think!  The next chapter will be a new one that actually goes before this chapter, and it should be up around the end of May. 


	4. Mourning

**A Hero Lost**

By: Estella

This has taken forever, exactly three months! I can make many excuses, but I find that they are not needed. It might have been up a little earlier (and been a little better) if I had not saved over the file (twice!). Thanks to all those people who reviewed, especially the last three, who got me back on track! 

Disclaimer: Same

~* Mourning *~

_"__Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life."_

~* Minas Tirith, April 8, 3019*~

            The room was filled with black…all were dressed in black; there was not a sign of cheerful colors anywhere. Even the weather agreed, the sky was cloudy, and all throughout the day, there were occasional showers. Every face was streaked with tears, every mind clouded with memories. On a day when there should have been rejoicing, there were tears. 

            The great hall of Minas Tirith was filled with people mourning, and eerie silence filled the walls of the citadel. Every street was uncluttered, and every tear excused, and no one wondered why, for they all knew. A hobbit from the unknown land of the Shire caused a whole land, and more, to mourn. From great soldiers and kings, down to the poorest peasants, they mourned. 

            Mournful singing filled the hall, and cries of anguish echoed up to the high ceiling. Many stood towards the center, listening to the telling of tales. Some had not even heard of him until his death, but still they mourned the loss of him, the loss of a hero, the savior of Middle Earth. Though some had an almost joyful expression on their face, they were free from Sauron; it mattered not what happened to the one who had freed them.

            In the far corner of the hall, outside of the great assembly stood the one who had known him best, the only company he had in those last few moments of his life, Samwise, tears rolling freely down his cheeks, his heart almost breaking with anguish. He was surrounded by three of his closest friends, whose eyes were also clouded with tears. They tried to comfort him, but there was nothing that they could do. Still he would not admit that it was not his fault. 

And then came the telling of the Tale of Frodo of the Ring. As it came to their journey up Mount Doom, Sam tried to run, but he was held back. If he would only wake up, and find this was all a dream, or run as far as he could, back to the Shire, and wake up to another day of tending Frodo's garden, as it was a year ago! He wanted to run as far as he could from this nightmare, though it was not…this was reality. 

The day pressed on, and the gathering went outside, to where a grave for Frodo lay, though the body did not lie there, it would proceed on to the Shire. Through tears, Sam stared down at the epitaph:

_Frodo Baggins,_

_Son of Drogo_

_Savior of Middle Earth_

_2968-3019_

            The inscription was simple; it did not tell of his journey, of the trial he went through, and his struggle to hang on to life. It did not tell of all those whom he left behind, to live in his memory, or those after him who would be touched by his life and his heroism. It was only a blunt reminder that he would roam the land of the Shire no more, nor would he ever live a full life. He was a servant, and was willing to give his own life for the lives of others. 

            Clutching the chain in his hand, the very chain that had held upon it the Ring, the thing that had killed his master, Sam fell upon the stone, and burst into a new bout of tears. He longed to be alone, and to find some solitude, but, in only a moment's time, there were many there, trying to comfort him. Friends and strangers he had never seen before tried to console him; they all knew what pain he was going through. The loss of a close friend, and the feeling that he had done it. 

            He wanted to run out from the midst of them, but he could not. Tightly, he wrapped the chain around his wrist, trying to distract his mind with another kind of pain. If this day would ever end, he would be grateful. 

But the day plodded on, and people continually pitied him. The crowd continued into a banquet room lined with tables, filled with masses of food, a hobbit's dream. But Sam's stomach lurched at the sight of it all. Taking his place at the table, he sat there, staring as food was piled endlessly upon his plate. 

            Endless chatter went on all around him, but he took no part. They all talked of Frodo, and experiences they had with him. For once Sam was forgotten, no one noticed he had not even touched his plate, or spoken a word. They would only glance slightly over to him, and ask him if they agreed. He would nod, not even noticing what they had said, and then his mind would wander again. Some of what they said he knew to be untrue, though he paid no mind. Only the wine gave him some small comfort, and he sipped glass after glass of it. It made the world around him somewhat unreal, and lessened the pain, though it was only temporary.

            At the end of the seemingly endless day, the fellowship gathered around the grave. Some shared a memory that they had of the journey, but others stayed silent, and other broke into tears, but Sam felt as if he could cry no more, and he drifted off, almost unaware of his surroundings.

            The day ended, and Sam retired to his room, though he still was not alone. A healer sat in the corner or his room; Sam was still not given peace. If he even let out the slightest sob, the healer would be there, trying to comfort him. 

            Late at night, Sam was still awake, restlessly sobbing softly into his pillow. He glimpsed up, and noticed the healer had dozed off at his position. This was his chance! 

            As quietly, as he could Sam crept out of bed, and past the sleeping guard, who hardly stirred. He crept through the strangely deserted halls, with not a guard in sight. Even at the doorway, there was no one. 

            He stepped out of the door out of bondage, and into the night. There was a slight drizzle outside, but Sam had not even noticed. As soon as he was outside, he had burst into tears, almost falling onto the ground. Through the tears he stumbled, and then fell upon Frodo's grave. 

His finger traced the lettering, but when he came upon the dates, he could go no further. No matter how many times he heard it, or told himself that Frodo was dead, he still could not bring himself to believe it, it still seemed surreal. 

Clutching the chain in his hand again, he examined it in the dim light. There was a slight stain of blood on it, Frodo's blood. His mind flashed back to when he had first noticed Frodo's maimed hand, and the story continued from there. He remembered him thinking about _himself_, and seeing Rosie again, how he missed her! When his master was dying all he though about was _himself_.

Hours passed, but Sam still lay there crying. The drizzle had turned into a downpour, crying onto the gravestone. Dawn came, everything around Sam stirred, but he still did not. Footsteps came behind him, and a hand was placed in his shoulder. 

"Sam! We've been searching all over for you!" said the voice of Pippin. He motioned for Sam to get up and follow him, and with help, he did, walking back into the "prison" where he was held. 

~* To Be Continued *~

A/N Again I apologize for the delay! I will make no promises with the time of the next chapter, but hopefully it will be up in 2-3 weeks. I know what I think of this chapter…now let's hear what you think! Please review! 


	5. News of Death

**A Hero Lost**

By: Estella

I have gotten this up almost when I said I would, for once.  Updates will be more frequent now that I have more free time and the holidays are coming up! 

Thanks for all the great reviews; I'm glad you're enjoying my story!    

Disclaimer:  Same.

~*News of Death*~

"I'm sorry I brought this upon you, my boy...  I'm sorry that you must carry this burden...  I'm sorry for everything!"

~*Rivendell, April 24, 3019*~

            Galloping hooves echoed from outside the windows, and suddenly came to a halt.  There was a jumble of elvish voices mixed with the voice of a messenger, who, from his accent, sounded Gondorian.  All voices sounded worried and somewhat sad, but the urgency was most clear.  With a rush of their elven cloaks, they were inside.  

            Bilbo stared out his window contemplating what he had just seen.  It was not often that messengers rushed into Rivendell, unless there was urgent news of some kind, good or evil.  It seemed ill; the voices had sounded sad, especially the man.  He had listened intently, but he had only been able to make out one word:  periannath.  Perhaps they were talking about Frodo.  For months, he had been waiting anxiously and nervously for some kind of news.

            More footsteps were heard, and Elrond rushed past the door without even a glance at Bilbo.  He was in a rush, Bilbo squinted at his expression; he looked worried.  _What was going on!?  Bilbo wondered, though he tried to convince himself that it was just his mind.  _

            Slowly he put down his book he was trying to work on; ever since Frodo left he was never able to get anything done.  Grasping his stick, he stood up, remembering his age again as he hobbled out of the room.  

            The hallways near Bilbo's room were usually almost empty, but now they held about them a strange silence, and not even the buzz of elves talking in adjacent halls could be heard. 

            As he hobbled farther down the hall, it only seemed more eerie.  The usual bustle of elves was gone, and the doors to the council chamber were locked, as if they were holding a secret council without.  

The thought that he dared not think over those past months was finally admitted, what if Frodo had died on the quest?  He searched and tried to find facts to deny that it could be true, but none were to be found.  Everything seemed to point to that that he was dead…the messenger, who looked as if he was from Gondor, Elrond not even glancing at him, the word periannath, and the grim expression in the elves' voices. 

 But no, he must not jump to conclusions; perhaps it was someone else.  Then why was he not invited to the council?  If another member of the fellowship died, surely he would be invited to discuss it.   

            The hours passed, and Bilbo's worry never lessened.  He paced about his room, and then sat down, staring outside where hours earlier he had seen the messenger ride up.  Still no sound was to be heard from the hallway.  

            Day faded into night; there was still nothing.  He had to find out something, anything, he could not stand waiting and worrying.  He hobbled down the hallway, just as the door to the council chamber opened.  Elves emptied out, all with similar grim expressions on their faces.  They muttered in elvish, in hushed voices, hardly taking notice of him.  Elrond walked past, and for the second time in the day, did not even look over at him, but continued on to his chamber accompanied by another elf. 

            Silently he followed them, but they took no notice.  Into Elrond's library they went, closing and bolting the door in Bilbo's face, but he remained and tried to catch parts of their conversation.  In hushed voices, they spoke in the high elven tongue, and though he knew the language, Bilbo could understand little of what they were saying.  They mentioned something about the Ring, and the crowning of a King, but nothing was to be heard of Frodo, though they did mention the name of Orodruin.

            "I don't know how we shall tell him this," Elrond spoke, staring at his advisor.       

            "But he must, know, and soon."

            "Yes, yes…but I fear that he will think it his fault…"

            "You will tell him tomorrow, as soon as he awakes."  The advisor said, ignoring Elrond's comment.  

            "Yes, yes.  Though even I still cannot come to terms with this news."

            The door opened, almost knocking Bilbo from his crouched position onto the floor.  He knew nothing more than he had; there was some kind of news, from Gondor he supposed, by the voice and attire of the rider.  The elf walked past, not noticing him.  Scrambling up from the floor, leaning on his stick, he hobbled after the elf, who turned and looked at him.  

            "You will know soon enough, little one," he said without waiting for Bilbo to speak, and then he continued down the hall.  

            For Bilbo, the night seemed endless; he could not sleep, his mind clouded with worry.  Again and again, he pieced together all that he knew, and every time came up with the same conclusion, and was unable to disprove it.  All that he had heard played over in his mind…he would find out soon enough.  

            And it was soon enough, or maybe too soon when he finally heard the news.  The sun dawned bright over Rivendell, and Bilbo had finally dozed off in his chair, though Elrond was still awake, pacing across the floor of his study.  How was he expected to say this?  He could not go up to Bilbo, and just blurt it out.  The hobbit had endured enough in his life, and now the loss of his "nephew".  He stared up at the sun, which had risen hours ago…he knew it was time.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway outside Bilbo's room, awakening him.  The door creaked open, and Elrond entered, finally taking notice of Bilbo, who yawned and opened his eyes.

Staring down at Bilbo with a grim expression, Elrond contemplated on how to begin…the whole night he had spent worrying, but nothing had he accomplished.  He stuttered trying to begin.  

            "What is the news?"  Bilbo cried out, he could not stand this any more.  

            "A messenger has come from Gondor," Elrond replied, sounding unsure of himself; he wanted to say no more.

            "With what news?  Any news of the Fellowship…of Frodo?" 

            "The Ring has been destroyed."  Bilbo flinched, but he needed to know more, he was growing even more impatient and restless by the second.  

            "What of Frodo?  How is Frodo?"

            "Frodo….Frodo has died," Elrond finally said.  Bilbo only stared up at him in disbelief, waiting for him to confirm his words.  

            "Frodo is dead."  

No tears could come from Bilbo; he stared in shock.  Even though he had thought about it all night it still did not seem like it was true.  His "nephew" could not be dead…he was still in the Shire, enjoying life.  Or he would turn the corner, and there he would be, running up to him.  Dead!  Why, Frodo could never be dead!  

But it was true.  In Gondor, they still mourned.  In Rohan, and in the Lothlórien, they mourned.  And now in the great elven fortress of Imladris, they mourned.

            As Bilbo sat trying not to let tears fall from his eyes, it finally struck him…Frodo had died.  The last time he had ever seen him, and the last time that he would ever see him, flooded back to his mind.  He would never again see his poor lad cheerful, and celebrating, as he did for the last time at his 111th birthday party.  

            All the mistakes that he thought he had made…now adopting Frodo seemed like a mistake…in fact his whole life seemed a mistake.  He had found the Ring, he had given it to Frodo; his actions had lead to the death of his "nephew".  Never was Frodo to see him again, never was Frodo to experience some of life's joys.

            As Elrond stared blankly at Bilbo, he thought of what little he had known of the hobbit.  From Bilbo he had heard many stories and tales, but he had seen Frodo little.  Only at the council when Frodo had volunteered to take the Ring.  And then he saw him as he left Rivendell, for the last time.  Frodo had stared around at the walls and pathways, as if this time would be his very last in the fortress…and it was.  

            "My dear boy, my dear boy," Bilbo muttered through the sobs.  If only everything had turned out as he wished "And they all lived happily to the end of their days."  But it was not so.  His boy was dead.  He remembered what Frodo had said to him when they met in Rivendell, "My own adventure has turned out to be quite different.  I'm not like you, Bilbo."  Yes it was different…it had ended it loss instead of victory.  

            "I'm sorry, my boy," Bilbo cried, "Why…why did it have to be you, my dear boy." 

            "We do not know why these things happen," said Elrond, placing his hand on Bilbo's shoulder, "Even the wisest cannot tell."

~* To Be Continued *~ 

A/N Thanks again for reading!  I hope you enjoyed it…and please review!  The next chapter should be up about the same time it took me with this one.


	6. In Rivendell

**A Hero Lost **

By: Estella 

A/N: This chapter was originally the journey back to Rivendell, but for various reasons, I skipped that chapter.  Later (after the fic it totally finished) I might put it back in.  

Thanks again for all the reviews, especially the writing tips, which I have tried to use in this chapter! 

Disclaimer: Same

~* In Rivendell *~

_"Even if we get out of here we can't escape.  Only elves can escape.  Away, away out of Middle Earth, far over the Sea.  If even that is wide enough to keep the Shadow out."_

~* Rivendell, September 21, 3019 *~

            At long last, the travelers came upon the valley of Rivendell.  The lights from the house of Elrond shone brightly, even to the place where they stood.  The journey had been long, and filled with sorrowful memories for Sam, he longed for rest.

            Slowly the travelers descended into the valley, crossing the bridge, the came upon the house.  Sam's mind drifted back to the moment when they had arrived in the valley almost a year ago; Frodo had been carried ahead of them by Glorfindel.  They had thought Frodo was to die then, but he had somehow lived.

              The doors to the house opened, and they were welcomed in.  Joy and song filled the house at Elrond's arrival.  But the hobbits did not join in; they set off to find Bilbo as soon as they arrived. 

            They found the old hobbit in his room, sleeping peacefully in front of his fire.  As they entered, he opened his eyes and looked up at them.  "I see you're made it back," Bilbo said, staring around at the group of them.  His eyes shifted between them, and then tears filled his eyes.  "My dear boy," he muttered through the tears.  "And tomorrow is my birthday too."  The hobbits nodded, and came to comfort the old hobbit.  Sam stayed behind in the corner, his eyes glazed with tears.  All night they stayed with the old hobbit, sitting in silence.  For a time, Bilbo would seem that he had forgotten all about Frodo's death; then there would be times when the memory was clear, and he would cry in anguish.  

            The next day was the celebration of Bilbo's 129th birthday.  "In one more year, if I am spared, I shall equal Old Took," he had said.  There was much celebration and feasting, though their hearts were not into it.  For this day would have been Frodo's fifty-first birthday.  The hobbits tried to keep this from their minds, for Bilbo seemed so cheerful, as if he had forgotten that Frodo had died.  

But, Sam was not able to contain his sorrow.  During the celebration, he had broken down in tears.  Everyone else was so cheerful, but Sam's heart was overwhelmed with sorrow.  Even here in the fortress of Imladris, where he was at rest, he could not find peace and comfort.  The memories continually haunted him.  His mind could still picture Frodo's pale face, as if it was happening now.  At night his dreams were filled with the memories, during the day it was all he thought about.  It seemed there was no time or place where he could escape.  

His mind drifted again to Frodo.  Such a short time had he lived, and now, he was not able to share in the joy of his "uncle".  He was never able to hear his tale told, or even greet the one who was like a father to him.  

The other hobbits gathered around Sam, trying to comfort him.  But he pushed through them, and fled down the hall, and past the elves, who tried to stop him.  Tears flooded down his face, blocking his vision, but he continued to run.  He knew not where he was fleeing to, but he longed to get away from this.  The pain had never lessened; it only worsened with time.

Finally, he was stopped when he ran into an elf.  "Sorry," he muttered, and tried to walk away, but the elf stopped him.  Through the tears, he looked up at the elf's face, and saw it was Elrond.  

"I know what you seek," Elrond said.  "You seek freedom from you pain, but it is not to be found.  There is but one place that you can find healing, though it is only temporary.  When the time comes, you may follow us, if you wish."  And with that, he left Sam, and continued along the hall.  

For a moment, Sam contemplated over what Elrond had just said.  He did not know what he was talking about, but later he would.  Now, he longed for this healing Elrond talked about.  

After trying to dry his tears, Sam returned to the celebration.  He still did not take part, his mind was lost in thought, but no more tears did he shed.  

For many days, the hobbits continued to stay in Rivendell.  Most of their time was spent talking with Bilbo in his room.  They were careful not to mention anything about their journey, especially when Sam was around.  He stayed with Bilbo less, but spent much time alone in his room.  

Merry and Pippin talked much with Bilbo about the journey, and he tried to record everything, but often he would doze off, and then wake up, and they would continue the story from where Bilbo had dozed off.  

Bilbo did have one chance to talk to Sam alone, and the subject of his journey was finally brought up.  "Tell me of your journey Sam," Bilbo said, seeming to have forgotten what Sam had gone through.  "I have heard the rest from Merry and Pippin, but you have told me nothing."  Sam sighed, trying to begin, his eyes filled with tears.  His mind drifted back to that day, when they left for Mordor.  

"No, Sam.  Go back, Sam.  I'm going to Mordor alone."  Sam had waded farther into the water, not heeding Frodo.  

"And I'm coming with you."  

"You can't swim Sam.  Sam!"  Frodo had screamed, and the rest was a blur.  He had sunk under the water, almost drowning, and then Frodo had pulled him out, saving his life.  

_"I made a promise, __Mr.__Frodo__ a promise: 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee' and I don't mean to, I don't mean to." _

Choking back the tears, Sam came back to the present.  Bilbo was still staring at him, encouraging him to begin.  Reluctantly Sam did, trying hard not to burst into tears.  

Hardy had begun telling of their journey through Emyn Muil, when he could not continue.  Tears started flooding down his face again.  The whole journey was hard for him to think of, they had been through so many hardships, especially Frodo.  The dead marshes…the attack of Shelob, his torture in Cirith Ungol, and then finally Mount Doom, it was too much for anyone to bear, even the strongest of hobbits.  

There was a moment of awkward silence as Sam sat sobbing.  Bilbo regretted bringing it up now; he had not thought…no, kind of, forgotten, the pain it brought Sam.  He still longed to know of his "nephew's" journey, even though it would bring him more misery. 

Through the tears, Sam mumbled something about Frodo, though the words could not be understood. 

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said, "I'm sorry, Sam.  I'm sorry for mentioning it.  I understand…it is still hard for you to talk about."  Sam nodded, feeling that if he would try to speak, he would break into more tears. 

"I know, Sam, I know," Bilbo said, trying to comfort him.  "It is painful for me to think of him also.  My dear boy."  For a long while they sat, Sam sobbing in front of the fire longing to run again, and Bilbo staring out the window, and eventually nodding off to sleep.

"Write it down for me sometime, Sam, for my book," said Bilbo when he awoke.  "Oh, and that reminds me…" 

Bilbo stood, walked slowly over to his desk, and pulled an envelope out of the drawer.  "Here, this is for you, from Frodo.  Go on, read it."  Sam slowly pulled the envelope open, and unfolded the letter that was inside.  

_Sam__, _

Tears filled Sam's eyes again as he began to read Frodo's spidery handwriting.

_Since you are reading this, I am dead.  I know not if the quest has failed, or has been completed, or how I died, but I urge you to go on.  Go back to the Shire, and go on with life, I know a certain hobbit lass will be waiting for you. _

Smiling slightly through the tears, Sam thought of how he longed to see her. 

_ I give you the house at Crickhollow, and Bag End, if it was still mine.  _

            Sam stopped reading, and folded the letter; replacing it in its envelope…he would read the rest later.  Tears streamed down his face, and sobs racked through his body.  It was almost as if Frodo was talking to him through the letter…for the last time.  

            The hobbits stayed in Rivendell until the beginning of October.  The air had begun to get colder, and the frost now lay on the ground every morning.  Sam was getting restless, he was worried about the gaffer, and he longed to see Rosie again.             

            The hobbits stood around the fire in Bilbo's room for the last time.  They said farewell, and then Bilbo gave them gifts.  He held his old sword, Sting, and his mithril coat.  "I would have liked to give these to Frodo," he said to Sam, forgetting that he had already done so.  "But since he has given you everything else, these will also go to you."  He handed them to Sam, who took them reluctantly.  Gently he held them, tears brimming in his eyes again.  

             To Merry and Pippin, he gave elven pipes.  "Think of me when you smoke them," he said.  He said farewell, and then gave his book also to Sam.  

            The next day after saying farewell to Elrond's household, and set off down the road.  Before they left Elrond pulled Sam over.  "About this time of year look for us in the woods of the Shire." 

            The three hobbits and Gandalf crossed the bridge out of Rivendell, and set off towards the Shire.  They were finally going home.  As they walked, a song could be heard floating out of Rivendell. 

_Still round the corner there may wait  
A new road or a secret gate,  
And though I oft have passed them by,  
A day will come at last when I  
Shall take the hidden paths that run  
West of the Moon, East of the Sun._

~* To Be Continued*~

            A/N: The next chapter should be up sometime over Christmas break, or shortly after.  I will probably be busy over the break, and I am working on a few other fics, but I have almost two weeks off, so that should give me plenty of time to work!  And believe me…it gets better again (if more angst can be considered better) Please review!  (I love those things!) 


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